


Trial & Error

by alessandralee



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, Tea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-01
Updated: 2013-12-01
Packaged: 2018-01-03 02:38:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1064748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alessandralee/pseuds/alessandralee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jemma tries to help Ward manage the rage.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trial & Error

He’d gone down to the training room in hopes that a few rounds with the punching bag would soothe the rage teaming inside him. Most of the time, he could keep it at bay, or at least channel it into destroying something (or someone) who deserved it. But there were instances, like this one, when the anger just burned through him and the only people nearby were his team, none of whom deserved to be on the receiving end. So he’s trying to take it out on the punching bad. But even though he’s been going at it for so long that he’s lost track of the time, it’s not doing him any good.

He’s so wrapped up in his fury that he doesn’t notice when the doors to the training room open and Jemma enters, balancing a tray with a blue tea pot and two matching tea cups. She gently knocks her elbow on one of the walls, to get his attention without dropping her tray.

His head turns towards her, as his anger surges following the interruption.

“What?” he demands, and if words could kill, his tone would at least have her in a coma.

Her hands are full, so she gestures towards the teapot with a slight shake of her head.

His eyes roll. “What is it this time? It had better not be more of that awful smelling one.” Despite his anger, he peels off the wrapping from his hands and makes his way to the table she recently had set up in the corner of the room.

“It’s not the ashwaganha,” she replies cheerfully, as though she hasn’t noticed his mood. He knows that she has, though, or else she wouldn’t be down here with a pot of tea. “Although that one has been the most effective.”

“I remember. Instead of murder, I only wanted to main someone. Really effective.”

“Yes, well I’m still in one piece, aren’t I?” she reassures him. “So you’re actually coping quite well, all things considered.”

Despite the anger, he is glad to have her around. But he doesn’t want to be proud of how he’s coping, he wants to feel like he isn’t one poorly timed comment from punching a hole through the wall.

“What is it this time?” He forces himself to at least sound calm as he takes a seat in front of the cup she put on the table for him.

“It’s a blend. Mostly catnip, with linden, passionflower and a bit of mint,” she says as she pours the steaming liquid into his cup and then hers.

“Catnip? Doesn’t that make cats go nuts? That seems like the exact opposite of what we want.”

“Good thing you’re not a cat, then,” she says with a smile, and then lifts her teacup to her mouth, blows on it slightly, and takes a long, slow sip. She doesn’t grimace as she puts the cup back into its saucer, which he takes as a good sign. Some of the teas she’s brewed for him have been disgusting. But she always insists on drinking it with him. And then she always insists that she enjoys this. Fortunately for him, she’s a terrible liar and her face always gives away what he’s about to put himself through.

He lifts his own teacup to his mouth. He’s never been a tea drinker, preferring coffee, but he can appreciate the fact that he doesn’t immediately want to spit this stuff out. It tastes like mint, and a bunch of herbs or plants he doesn’t really recognize the taste of. He quickly drains the whole cup and pushes it back towards her. She pours him another. She always makes him drink two cups, with the exception of a particularly bitter blend that he could barely swallow a full cup of.

He downs the second cup just as quickly as the first. Once he’s done, she pushes her own teacup off to the side and pulls out a small notebook.

“What’ll it be today?” he asks, trying and failing to match her own cheerfulness.

“Well, as usual, the exercise and solitude have been no help. We should really just start with the tea.” She turns to a fresh page and starts taking notes as she speaks.

“But how else will I train for two plus hours without feeling tires?” The tea might be helping the tiniest bit, because he thinks that may have actually come out more jokingly than anything else.

“You do get tired, though,” she points out, “as soon as the rage subsides. Then you either need to take a nap or start to doze off during briefings.”

“But right now I feel like I could go ten rounds with the Hulk.”

“I’d rather you not. I’m sure Dr. Banner would feel bad about tearing you limb from limb.” This time she’s the one that’s joking. She frequently makes jokes during their teatime, even though his rage could turn on her at any moment (and it has, although fortunately never physically), and even though she has her own demons haunting her. He hasn’t had been much of a help to her on that front lately, but she always has time to try and help him.

She flips to the first page of her notebook, which is just a list. Her handwriting is neat enough that, even from upside down, he can read most of it. A few of the items are crossed out and a couple have check marks next to them.

 _Tea_. That one isn’t crossed out or checked off. She still things she’s going to find a blend that will offer him a decent amount of relief. She’s devoted so much time to researching calming plants that Fitz has started to complain about the smell of tea messing up the calibration of some of his field equipment. Jemma ignores him whenever he brings it up.

“I’m not doing yoga,” he tells her. It’s the second item on the list, and it too is unmarked.

“So you’ve told me repeatedly. And I’ve agreed to save it for last, if you’ll recall. Largely because I actually downloaded some introductory videos and tried them. I’m afraid I won’t be much help in that area, I’m rubbish when it comes to flexibility.”

He laughs a bit at the image of Jemma trying to twist herself into some sort of yoga position, and the rage induced tension filling his body retreats just the slightest bit.

 _Massage_. That one has two thick lines through it. That was one of the first things they’d tried, after Coulson said he’d had positive experiences with it. As it turns out, having Jemma’s hands all over his body was anything but relaxing. He spent the entire time hyperaware of her close proximity and it put him even more on edge. That session had ended when he threw the massage table across the room and then sprinted away in only a towel in order to avoid doing any more damage.

 _Meditation & Deep Breathing_. Also crossed out, though not as forcefully. Unsurprisingly, Grant wasn’t very good at emptying his mind. More surprisingly, he wasn’t very good at keeping his mouth shut, either. Jemma kept having to shush him and eventually gave up when he kept talking back to the audio track that was supposed to guide them through proper breathing and guided imagery.

“What does Laugh mean?” He wasn’t sure what that was doing on the list.

“Laughter lowers cortisol and releases endorphins. It should help you to relax. Unfortunately, your sense of humor is hard to peg and I’ve been unable to successful recreate May’s shaving cream prank. It seems Fitz has gotten a bit paranoid and locks his door when he naps now.”

The memory of a confused and annoyed Fitz with shaving cream smeared all over his face prompts another bout of laughter from Ward. Again, the anger shrinks so that the tension is limited to his shoulders, chest and gut. Maybe this method does have some merit.

“Skye loaned me some DVDs she finds particularly funny,” she continues. “I watched one. Wedding Crashers. I didn’t really enjoy it, but if you’d like to give it a try-“

“No thanks.”

“Well then I can borrow Fitz’s boxset of Monty Python’s Flying Circus. That I actually do enjoy.”

“Could you be any more British?” he asks her. “Between the tea and the Monty Python… Is there a portrait of the Queen hanging in your bunk? Thank god May drives the van, because you’d probably drive on the left side of the road, regardless of where we were.”

She must have found his outburst amusing, because she dissolves into a fit of giggles. The way she shakes when she laughs is so ridiculous that he can’t help but join her. Pretty soon the two of them are doubled over in their seats and gasping for air.

When Grant finally manages to pull himself together, the rage is completely gone. His limbs feel like jelly and there’s a bit of tension in his stomach, but he attributes that to the laughter. Otherwise, he’s. But tired.

“How do you feel?” Jemma asks when she’s finally done laughing.

“Good,” he says, and he means it. “Thank you.”

“It’s nothing. Now I just have to figure out how to repeat this affect on a regular basis.”

“I’m sure you’ll find a way,” he says as he gets up from the table. “And I will leave you to it. I’m exhausted.”

“Sleep tight,” she calls to him, then grabs her pen from where she dropped it during her laughing fit.

He heads of the training room, pausing to look back at her once he gets through the doors. She’s scribbling furiously in her notebook, no doubt recording her analysis of whatever makes him laugh. He won’t be surprised if she has a full treatment plan by the time he wakes up.

He’s luck to have someone who cares about him like that. And he knows it.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt "The Well, Jemma researches relaxation techniques to help Grant. He told her to "just fix this" after all. Bonus points if she has spreadsheets and a lab notebook and goes full-on scientist on this new side project. Double bonus points if tea is involved, because she's British and tea fixes everything," from Anonymous.


End file.
